


Language

by Wrathofscribbles



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 11:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18051653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: The Devil needs a pep talk.  Is there anyone better suited to give him one?Exactly, no, so that's exactly what she's gonna do.  For a price.  Whether he likes it or not.





	Language

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer that I don't own Lucifer or any of the show's characters and content.** I just like to play in the devil's sandbox.
> 
> One word prompt was "language" and this is what I came up with. Don't ask how, because I have no damn clue XD

“You should tell her, y’know.”

“Tell who what?”  It’s a dumb reply and he knows it, lacking his usual flair and grace for a flogging in all things vernacular, but he’s been caught on the wrong foot.  Quite literally - wings flapping a frantic beat as he pitches forward in the process of wrangling a sock onto his foot, the damn things too eager to help and catapulting him backwards, right into a wall with a solid _thud_  he feels through every bone.

Lucifer isn’t too proud to admit that he _flails_ to right himself, unable to simply roll up onto his knees and pop up as he usually would with sorely underworked flight muscles screaming in protest and feathers ruffling.  A sign of the agitation he pointedly keeps from his face as he eventually yanks on the offending sock and gets his feet under him, promising a thorough plucking to pesky limbs if they don’t _behave_  and fold meekly at his back like they should have done.

Or simply vanish into the ether like they apparently _can’t_ , some invisible clamp working round the tender area where they join his back and _squeezing_ every time he tries to pull them inward.  Blocking him.  _Denying_ him.  The Devil is _not_ pleased.

Ella, however, seems absolutely _delighted_ , eyes bright from the smile her hand can’t quite hide.  Not quite the expression he’s used to seeing when his _nature_  is revealed, but then his whole world’s been turned on its head the past few months.

“Oh, Luci, why do you _hide_ them?  They’re _adorable_.”

“I very much beg your pardon?”  Adorable?  Not majestic or terrifying or beautiful or stunning or ethereal or divine, but _adorable?_   Does she know nothing of speaking the Devil’s language?  Of appealing to him?  Of stoking the fire and fanning the flames in hopes of getting a seat where it’s toasty warm in the frosty caverns of Hell?  _What is wrong with this woman?_

“You heard me the first time.  Don’t even tell me you didn’t - I _know_  you can hear pins drop.  _Back_ to my original point - you should tell Chloe the truth.”

He is - too sober for this conversation.  Much too sober.  The entire contents of his bar won’t be enough to drag him through this conversation.  He fetches a drink and downs it in two gulps.  Does the same with a second.  Debates on trying for a third before settling on all but inhaling the contents of the bottle _from_  the bottle and he has to give Ella her due - despite the rusty knives she’s jabbing into him and prying his ribcage open with, she gives him space.  Breathing room.  A moment to gather his thoughts and wit and marshal a defence or thirteen.  Patience to rival the blunt hammer of the detective’s concern, gentle and leading where Chloe would simply march up to him and yank him down by the collar until they’re nose to nose and he burns in the fire of her eyes at being denied honesty.

But she _does_  draw closer, progress he tracks with every damning _click_  of boots across his immaculate floor, until she’s in touching distance.  Closer still, until he can feel the warmth of her, hear the rasp of her jacket as she raises an arm and he expects a touch on his wing, fingers through the feathers - but no.  She dives under it, careful to avoid it, lays her hand on his shoulder instead and squeezes once, gently, a friend’s support through and through.

“Tell her, Lucifer, and show her proof.  She won’t believe you otherwise.”

“But -”

“The way I see it?  You were an angel first, then the devil, and both experiences shaped you into the absolute _moron_  who runs headfirst into a gunfight today.  The same guy who has her back, who picks her kid up from school and helps her with her homework and teaches her roundabout ways to cuss someone out.  The same guy who moons after her and worries for her and loses his shit when she’s hurt.  So show her in that order.  Your angel side, wings and all.  Then your ‘devil face’, snarly fangs and all.”

“I don’t have -” he cuts off with a yelp when she pinches his arm, cuffing her gently with a wing and scuttling out of reach to rub at the abused skin.  Ella steals his drink in retaliation, right from under his nose, and takes a swig from the bottle as she pleases.  Brazen thief.

“ _Then_ your ‘devil face’.  And then back to you, Lucifer Morningstar, the walking conundrum that’s been vexing her for over a year, charming bastard she cares _a lot_ about it.  Hell, my _point_  is, she’s tough.  And she likes you.  If you’re honest with her, you won’t lose her.  You’ve just gotta trust her, Lucifer.  And _since_ I’m offering my services here, consider this booze payment for my relationship advice.  You’re welcome.”

“It’s as simple as that, is it?”

“Yup.  You should try keeping things simple sometimes, Lucifer.  Might help keep the grey out of your hair for another few years.”

“You have the _gall_  to come into my home, offer unwanted advice, and insult me to my face?  Ms Lopez you are, without a doubt, an _insufferable_  -”

“Love you too, Luci.”

What?

_What?_

His mouth flaps open, and she winks at him.  _Winks_.

No wonder Maze approves of her so much.


End file.
